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Six Months on The Road (Part 1): The Missing

December 29, 2012


The items I’ve missed most while being on the road for the last six months (in chronological/left-behind order): cowboy boots (put in storage in Philadelphia in June), noodle bowl and chopsticks (left in my trunk with Giulia in Welland, Canada in September ish), tambourine (left in a duffel with mae in Tacoma, WA November ish).

Missing stuff is missing nothing. 

I don’t miss any thing.

I miss people. Even the people I left a quick minute ago.

I miss Vincent and his family. Vincent for his pseudo-hard-guy bad ass self as I’ve know him for 18 years. Hold up. EIGHTEEN YEARS. Yep. He’s still a pseudo-hard-guy bad ass. I love him for all that and for the husband, dad, and friend he has been to me for EIGHTEEN YEARS. I miss Vincent’s family, every one of them. As I knew and know them. They are all amazing people and testimonies to what a great man he is.  He is my comrade. I miss my brother.

I miss Vicmarie’s hyperbolic crazy aghast faces. I miss her unfaltering encouragement and faith. I miss her letting me hug her while she’s washing dishes. I miss Vicmarie’s family that I’ve grown to love and cherish over the last 10+ years. Her kids, her husband, her parents, in-laws, etc. Every member of her family has embraced me. Every member of her family has extended themselves to embrace me as familia. I miss mi familia.

I miss Bill and Nette and Chris.  All doing great stuff. They are grounded and motivated. They are my last family in Seattle. They inspire me. Bill and I dance to the best 80’s music. Nette and I chat about how to grow in this world. I miss Chris. He is one of my oldest and most cherished friends. I miss his crazy kid, Henry. I’ve only known Henry for a quick minute, but I miss that nugget. I want to know him more so he misses me too. Chris and I reminisce; we imagine what can be great in the world. We imagine a separate future shaped by a shared past. I miss the familiarity of longevity.

I miss Ryan’s cats. No. Wait. I don’t. I miss Ryan. His openness. His creativity. He’s brave. He’s a visionary of joy. And yes, I miss BERTHA, his massive cat. No. Wait. Ryan is that kid that you meet one night at a club and then eight years later you’re still best friends because he has metal. He is resilient. He is a survivor. He knows me because he knows himself. These days, I miss him most when I don’t want to miss anything, but when I miss myself. And he’s there. Always present. I miss my mirror.

I miss Giulia’s rose-cheeked smile after one beer on a hot summer day. I miss walking with her along the canal at sunset. I miss her pseudo evil tween-teen. I miss our family dinners. Dairy Queen. Singular and many evenings when we came together and made something: food, crafts, memories. I miss our sisterhood. I miss the inkling of Family as I attempt to make it I began to feel in her home. I miss my sister-friend.

I miss Alan’s snorting and deep exhales while he works, blogs, and makes stuff. I miss the parallelism he presents in our similar  journey. I miss his empathy in the looks, the silence of comfortable companionship. I miss his openness to feedback, and dialog. I miss his music, that comes in song and in silence. I miss his place in a Family I fleetingly felt in Welland. I miss he who makes our triumvirate.

I could go on and on and on about each person, each person that touched my life over the last six months, and more so over my life time as a free adult.

Imagine yourself, writing in public, even just a few words about the people who have touched you, those who have informed the way you live in the world today, over the last six months.

Imagine that.

Stay tuned for:  “Six Months on The Road (Part 2):  Añoranza …”

p.s. I write this while sitting at a desk in the basement of Casa Bava. Jim Groom, his wife Antonella, and their three children are snugged-up overhead. This family was the first I retreated to six months ago this week. They (and the other Fredericksburg locals) embraced me with warm hearts. This family is the family I wish I knew as a kid. The one that presented a solid foundation of love and freedom. Ultimately, Jim and Antonella create a home where kids are brilliant wild beasties and dinner table dialog about film and critical theory,  and playing games is the norm. They make a home that I can visit whenever, always be welcome, always have a place at the table, with no pressure, and be treated as a welcome guest.  Be treated as family. Or a gypsy rogue scholar. Whatever works. Regardless. When I’m not here, I miss being here.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. December 29, 2012 10:39 am

    Beautifully written. I’m so glad your travels have brought you back to Fredericksburg for a time, because you were missed too.

  2. January 2, 2013 2:44 pm

    Dearest GNA, you are definitely missed too.

    I’ve been without Internet this whole holiday so I missed this post and a lot of other online activity. I’m happy you are snugged up in the Groom residence; the laughter and joy from that family brings me hope for a happiness in a nuclear family I never knew was possible.

    So many of your influences linger up here in Niagara and have made positive changes for the better in our little home. The pseudo evil teen sends her love too.

    Your trunk has safely made the move to our new place, which is smaller but better in so many ways, although sadly there isn’t a canal pathway to traverse with the dog any longer, no gobies to save.

    Añoranza is a bittersweet emotion. It helps me appreciate those lovely memories we made. I like it when you write. I look forward to Part 2.


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